


I question my reality, but it does not answer

by Wreath_of_Laurels



Category: Highlander - All Media Types, Highlander: The Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Charlie is alive too, Clan Denial, Gen, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:40:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21881131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wreath_of_Laurels/pseuds/Wreath_of_Laurels
Summary: Methos really doesn't want to talk about his (non)relationship with Duncan MacLeod. Shame everyone else didn't get the memo.A dramedy in seven parts.
Relationships: Amanda Darieux & Methos (Highlander), Angie Burke/Richie Ryan, Charlie DeSalvo & Methos, Duncan MacLeod/Methos (Highlander), Joe Dawson & Methos (Highlander), Methos (Highlander) & Richie Ryan
Comments: 19
Kudos: 69
Collections: Highlander Secret Santa (ShortCuts) 2019





	I question my reality, but it does not answer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Carenejeans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carenejeans/gifts).



* * *

_Five days ago_

* * *

Methos is about to storm out of the dojo, leaving it, the loft and MacLeod behind him when a cane whips up, blocking the exit. He looks over to finds Charlie DeSalvo leaning next to the doorframe.

“Hey, Adam, I wanted to ask you something,” he says, beckoning him to follow.

The weight of his suitcase is pulling Methos askew. His right-side aches and the pain of it runs all the way up to his neck which throbs with each beat of his heart. All in all, it’s hardly surprising that he wants nothing more than to be away but...

It’s the cane that does it. That and the quiver of the left side of DeSalvo’s body as he tries to stand upright with stomach muscles that never fully healed. DeSalvo may have started as a friend of MacLeod, but as of late, he’s become a friend of Joe as well. Two Mortals who know about Immortals. Two veterans who had lost their health and vigor while young. Two men who had to discover themselves anew.

So Methos snaps himself out of a juvenile hissy fit and follows the other man into the heart of the dojo.

“You heard about Richie, right? Him and Angie getting hitched?” DeSalvo says.

Angela ‘Angie’ Burke, one of Richard’s childhood friends and girlfriend of the last few years. Apparently, she had taken the revelation of Immortals with shock but by the next day was harassing them into helping her start a multi-generational foundation for at-risk children.

“Yes.” He remembers the look in Duncan’s eye, the excitement of an explorer spotting a new land on the horizon.

“Well, the engagement party for him and Angie is on Saturday. You know you’re invited, right?”

“Yes.” A few brief hours ago, MacLeod had told him, even joked about introducing Methos as Richard’s step-Teacher. It seems surreal in retrospect, that warm comfortable morning turning into this frigid afternoon. 

They stop in one of the dojo’s backrooms. The only thing remarkable thing about the room is how bare it is. There’s absolutely nothing in it.

“This is our extra equipment room,” Charlie explains. “We never use it. I was thinking we could renovate it. Knock a hole in the wall over here so it you can get some light in. Build in a bunch of shelves into the others. I could even carve some detail into the head and baseboards.” He waves his cane slowly, delicately painting a picture on the bare walls. There’s a flash of pearly white teeth as he speaks of the wood carving before he turns to Methos and says, “So what do think?”

“What would it be for?” Methos asks.

“I was thinking it’d make a good library.”

Methos’ neck throbs and his hold on his suitcase tightens.

“None of the customers would make a fuss. MacLeod’s kicked everybody's ass at least once and almost everyone’s learned a couple moves from him,” DeSalvo continues. “Besides, I figure you can handle yourself.” It’s the closest DeSalvo’s ever come to say that he knows what ‘Adam’ is.

Methos probably should appreciate the idea. He probably should be polite. And in way he does and is.

The room would make an excellent library. It’s has enough space for quite a few books and far enough back from the sparring rooms to muffle most of the noise. With a window, the room would be basked in Southern light, so much easier on the eyes than electric lights.

“It’s a lovely idea," he says, smiling smoothly. “I’m sure Duncan would love it.”

The entire sentiment is as solid as a ghost in the mist.

* * *

_Four days ago_

* * *

It’s a good night for theft. The moon isn’t so bright to as to reveal their black-clad figures, but not so dark that they need flashlights, drawing the attention of the neighbors. Perfect for them to skulk around.

The Burke estate is equally obliging with a multitude of skylights letting both moonlight and enterprising thieves inside.

“You know you’re invited to the engagement party on Saturday, right?” Amanda says, her voice crackling over Methos’ headset as he slips down the rope into the office.

“Yes,” he says as he finds the computer and goes to work. He’s better with computers than her, so he handles the security system while she watches for other complications. Nonetheless, Methos has no doubt Amanda could handle the entire job by herself.

“I'll see you then. Richie will happy to see you, especially considering the engagement gift.”

“The gift of us stealing from his mother-in-law?” he says as he cracks the system and starts to scroll through the menus to find the security cameras. A password of ‘bestPRINCE$$4ever’? Richard might want to reconsider marrying into this family.

“ _Future_ mother-in-law, and in this case? We’re doing him a favor. You’ll understand when you see what we’re after.”

Methos had volunteered because he needed a distraction from MacLeod. Normally he would have just skipped town, but he isn’t quite at that point. There are still people to he needs to talk to and items to pick up; thus, he’d looked for a local distraction.

“And what item is this?”

Amanda is many things (brilliant, mischievous, loving) but if he had to narrow down the list, distracting would be on it.

“Trust me, you’ll know it when you see it.”

With the cameras now looped, Methos makes his way through the hall to bedroom. According to Amanda, the senior Burkes were out of town as the upcoming party is only for Richard’s side of the family.

He reaches the master bedroom, finds the vault (under a painting of kittens of all things) and easily unlocks it. Soon he’s flipping through jewelry boxes, stopping on the fourth one. This had to be what Amanda meant as its contents certainly grab his attention.

“Amanda,” he reports, “I found the... cufflinks? _Are_ they supposed to be cufflinks?” It’s either that or ocular torture devices.

“Yes. Apparently, they’re a family heirloom. Mrs. Burke is insisting Richie wear them at the wedding.”

Probably as a way to drive off potential sons-in-law. He’s really not sure what they’re supposed to be. A phallus and a vagina? Two birds tweaking while high on crystal meth? An artistic representation of salami ruling the world? One way or another, five thousand years on this Earth and Mortals are still finding ways to surprise him with their cruelty.

He snaps the box closed as much to spare his eyes as to store the abominations, slipping it into a pouch at his waist before heading back to the hall.

“Methos, mind if I ask for your advice?” Amanda asks demurely.

There’s something wrong with that but he’s distracted, busy scanning the area on the off-chance that he missed some part of the security system, and so, he answers “Yes” without thinking it through.

“I have this friend who’s head over heels for a lover of mine.”

Demurely. She had asked _demurely_. When it comes to that list of Amanda’s traits, demure is definitely not on it. In fact, it and Amanda go together about as well as oil and a flame thrower.

“Personally, I have nothing against the idea. In fact,” she says, the words turning silky smooth. “I’d be willing to most ‘vigorously’ support them. Unfortunately, my friend is currently all but running all but away from the person he’s in love with and I’m worried about him.”

It’s when he re-enters the study that he sees the trap. The rope is no longer dangling in the middle of the room. Rather it’s fifteen feet up, being held by a sleek serpentine figure.

As he heads back to the door, she says off-handily, “I wouldn’t try to exit another way if I were you. I might have been wrong when I said there were no security guards on site. Now about that friend of mine...”

Amanda's deviousness tends to be blatant and so, people assume that because her manipulations are normally obvious that it’s always that way. She likes it that way. A fact that even those who know her well tend to forget. MacLeod is probably the closest to her and Methos wonders when he’ll figure out that Amanda’s swordsmanship is exponentially better when he’s not around to defend her.

Apparently, Methos isn’t immune to her ways either.

“...I’m worried he’s giving up too soon. I know he’s lost quite a few friends and lovers the last while. Three or four I might not approve of. One I loved dearly.”

His brothers. Byron. Rebecca. “ _Amanda,_ ” he growls.

“I was wondering if he needed someone to talk to.” Her voice has lost its mocking quality. For that moment, she sounds very much like Rebecca with her eerie ability to look right through him. “Or if there’s anything he wants that I could help with.”

He doesn’t want to think about her or any of them. The ones he had loved. The loves he had betrayed. So instead sarcastically snaps out, “Maybe he wants his partner not to hog the entire bed. Not to have to wait for the bathroom.”

She chuckles and drops the rope down. “I suppose he does tend to sprawl out. One time he managed to kick me in the eye in the middle of the night—I’m still not sure how he managed _that_ —and the amount of time he spends on his hair can be a bit ridiculous.”

By the time they’re in the car and away from the estate, Amanda the supposedly transparent trickster is back in full force.

“I suppose that I couldn’t have left you down their too long,” she muses. “I’ve got a buyer for the cufflinks waiting and if I wait too long, he might regain his sanity. Then I have to buy my engagement present for Saturday.”

He’s tempted to give her the silent treatment, but if she’s going to pretend that the entire thing was a little joke, he’s happy to oblige her.

“You’re spending the money on Angie and Richie?” he asks.

“Not _all_ of it,” Amanda says as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m taking a thirty percent commission.”

“And I’m not getting anything?”

“Well... technically it started out with me getting twenty and you ten.”

“And what, pray tell me, happened to my ten percent?”

“Your therapy fees of course.”

* * *

_Three days ago_

* * *

It’s two in the afternoon, when he and Richard pull up at the dojo on Richard's motorcycle.

Methos had roped the younger Immortal into taking him explaining his car was in the shop. This was technically true, but he might have left out a few details such as the fact that there wasn’t anything actually wrong with his car. He was merely having it cleaned, detailed and waxed.

Such was the usefulness of partial truths. Methos got both a ride and an unofficial bodyguard while he retrieves a few more personal affects. MacLeod might want to have deep, soul-searing conversations with him, but Methos doubts the Highlander is going to do so in front of his Student.

When they enter the loft, it turns out that the precaution may not have been necessary. Amanda and MacLeod are in the middle of a heated argument. So heated that they barely look over at Richard and don’t even glance at Methos.

“Amanda, for the last time,” Duncan shouts, “what did you do with it?”

Richard plonks down on the couch, watching the debacle with the stoic expression of a veteran of many a Amanda-MacLeod fight. In fact, he looks rather bored, eyes turned up to the ceiling as if he might find something representing sanity hidden in the spackle.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Earlston’s people will be bringing it within the hour,” Amanda says, every word coated in molasses.

“Earlston. The antique dealer?”

“Yes. He was delighted to give business to an old friend. And your taste? Apparently, it’s excellent.”

Methos for his part is using the distraction to collect his possessions, slipping into the bedro—

“It is?”

—into what _used_ to be the bedroom. The room’s namesake is missing, leaving a large rectangular patch of dust in its place.

“Oh yes! A nice big one with ornate carvings in the backboard and bedposts. He is happy that it’s getting a good home. He is even picking up the mattress for you. Isn’t that nice? Make sure to pay him extra.”

Probably best to get moving. So, opening his duffle, he quickly scoops up his underwear from a drawer, a half-read book from the bedside table and a small stiletto hidden in a lampshade.

“And my bed?” MacLeod asks. “What happened to it?”

Methos hesitates over the broadsword hanging on the wall with MacLeod’s katanas. It looks better than it did when he last saw it. It’s been lovingly cleaned and sharpened so the nicks are almost invisible. Unfortunately, it’s still badly bent though thus he passes it by.

“I just told you. Honestly, Duncan, I think you’re losing your hearing in your old age... Oh, you mean your _old_ bed. Apparently, you generously donated to the Children’s Hospital Christmas auction,” Amanda says. “They say, ‘Thank you’ by the way.”

Duncan sighs. "Amanda, you can’t just run off with my possessions without permission.”

She can’t? It’s never stopped her before.

He expects her to say it too, but as it’s Amanda and predicting her like predicting the wind, she does nothing of the sort. Instead when Methos returns to the living room, he watches her pivot on a heel, graceful leap and land on the couch.

And Richard’s lap.

“Richie, tell Duncan that he’s overreacting,” Amanda says. “He’s being ever so scary.” She loops her arms around one of Richard’s own, burying her face in his shoulder.

Richard, who is startled by the change in events, stiffens and—before he can think things through—babbles, “Maybe you are overreacting a touch, Mac. I mean it’s not like you can't afford a new one and...” He trails off as Duncan pins him with a glare.

“Richie, you know that's not what this is about, right?”

“Well, yeah I do...” On cue, Amanda tightens her grip on Richard’s arm, her body shaking dramatically like a leaf in a gale. It would be more effective if she didn’t periodically glance upward, a sparkle buried in the dark depths of her eyes.

Richard’s gaze zips back and forth between Duncan and Amanda with increasing desperation before fixating on the room’s third occupant.

“Methos?” he says hopefully.

Methos just placidly smiles back at him. He could give Richard advice, but there are three reasons he won’t:

  1. No matter what Methos says, he doubts it’ll have too much effect. Whether either of them will admit it or not, MacLeod is for all intents Richard’s father. Richard will grump and grumble about MacLeod being too protective or telling him what to do, but at the end of the day, he’s almost puppyish in his desire for his approval.
  2. When it comes to Methos’ verses Amanda’s influence over Richard, Methos will come up short every time. While Methos is sure Richard is well aware that she’s shamelessly manipulating him, Amanda is a woman and boobs are Richard’s Kryptonite.
  3. Methos is having way too much fun watching him panic.



Then to Methos’ surprise, Richard twists out Amanda’s grip—depositing her on the floor with a squeak—dashes down the loft’s stairs and soon they can spot him out the window, sprinting across the street to his motorcycle. Within a minute, he has mounted it, pausing just long enough to flip them all the bird, and cranks the bike to life, making his escape.

Methos is impressed. Apparently, Richard is learning. So, Methos gives his diminishing figure a respectful nod before turning to head out the door.

Unfortunately, the fighting has stopped, and MacLeod is watching him, his arms crossed across his chest.

“Methos, did you tell Amanda that I need a bigger bed?” he asks. Duncan’s posture is strong, his words forceful but there is a softness to his lips and eyes that belay a deeper, more personal question.

Behind him Amanda is smiling at Methos. _Demurely_ smiling, and he notes that she’s blocking the stairway. Damn her.

* * *

_Two days ago_

* * *

“Have you heard about the chaos over at MacLeod’s?” Joe asks as they walk towards his bar.

“Some.” The chaos had been the only reason Methos had been able to escape. Duncan had been prepared for the movers. The contractors tearing apart his living room not so much.

“In addition to replacing Duncan’s stuff, Amanda hired some contractors to put in an extra bathroom. And now, it’s getting more complicated. Charlie went and co-opted a couple of the contractors. He's got them turning one of the dojo's rooms into a library.”

“I told Duncan it was a bad idea to introduce him to Amanda.

"Duncan probably shouldn't have introduced him to you. According to Charlie, you told him it was a ‘lovely idea’.”

“No comment,” Methos says, internally groaning. That’s one reason he hates giving advice. Next thing you knew, you’d find out that had taken your words so out of context that ‘clean up you room’ became ‘commit mass genocide’.

It made almost jealous of Kallus. Neck wounds are one of the few injuries that take a long time to heal in Immortals. After the wound MacLeod had dealt him, Kallus had spent two decades unable to talk. It would certainly simplify things.

“So, you know that Amy’s in town,” Joe says, changing the subject.

“Yes.” Obviously. In fact...

They’re at the bar now and across from it is a little cafe. Sitting at one of its exterior tables is a brunette daintily sipping coffee. Amy Brennan-Thomas. Methos’ Watcher and Joseph Dawson’s illegitimate daughter.

Methos waves at her and in response, Amy beams at Joe then bares her teeth at Methos, giving him the ‘okay’-sign. Or at least that’s what it would appear to be to an American. To a more traveled individual, it had other meanings. In South America, it means asshole. In the Arabic world, it represents the evil eye. The sign could easily be either, both or have another meaning altogether.

After all, Amy Brennan-Thomas is a very well-traveled person.

Methos avoids anymore ‘friendly’ sentiments from Joe's darling daughter by him and Joe entering the bar. 

“About Amy,” Joe says as they settle down at a corner table. “I was thinking about asking her if she wants to move in.”

“And what does that have to do with me?”

“Don’t give me that bullshit. Last year you led her on a runaround through Brazil, Cambodia, Egypt and only God-knows how many other countries.”

Amy Brennan-Thomas is a very well-traveled person. Methos made sure of it.

“What’s the problem? You mentioned she liked travelling.” Well, maybe not the part where she spent three days trudging through the rainforest mud in a monsoon.

“She probably did like it up until the Council found out you were actually cooling your heels in the Bahamas the entire time. They accused her of illicitly using funds go to on vacation. They’ve put her on a shoe-string budget.”

Methos winces. He has fond memories of being a Watcher but subsisting on the pay is not one of them. “And what can I do?” Other than basic travelling cost, Watchers don’t receive much in the way of pay and a short-string budget makes for pocket change. Most end up needing a second source of income. For example, Joe and his bar. Meanwhile Gina and Robert de Valicourt’s Watcher has a successful series of erotica novels that is largely based on their exploits. “Donate money?

“No,” Joe says. “An anonymous donation to her account? The Council would go apeshit. She needs less trouble, not more. What I could use is some advice.”

“Oh?”

“I was thinking about offering her my spare room. Given MacLeod’s almost always in Seacouver these days and you’re almost always with him. I figured she’d save some money on rent. You worked at Watcher HQ, I need an opinion. Would a senior Watcher letting a junior one stay with him be looked at with suspicion? Too creepy?”

“Nobody will think that of you.” True. Especially since (and Methos has never had the heart to tell Joe this) the truth of Amy’s parentage has been common knowledge among Watchers for decades. For an organization based on secrets, Watchers are notorious gossips. Pretty much the only ones who don’t know that everyone knows are Joe and Amy themselves.

“Hmmm... How about an old man asking the daughter he barely knows to move in? Is that too much?” Joe asks. He grabs a rag and starts furiously rubbing the table top.

Advice. Joe wants advice. Adam doesn’t mind giving advice. Neither did Remus, Alexander, Caratarix and the numerous other people who have been Methos’ ‘roommates’. As for Methos himself, he hates it. There’s always this expectation that because he’s been around the block a few thousand times that he always knows what to do.

His experience isn’t any help here anyways. Illegitimate children and long-lost parents are distinctly Mortal problems. Even if he did, family situations are complicated. No matter how many times he’s had one, there’s been problems and moments that have made him tempted to lop his own head off.

And in this case? Amy is quickly becoming the most important person in Joe’s world. The wrong advice could hurt him badly.

Joe finally stops polishing and looks over at Methos. The table's surface is so smooth that it reflects Joe’s face perfectly and Methos has the disconcerting experience of two Joes, haggard and worried, plaintively looking to him.

Methos has never put much stock in gods, but apparently at least one is looking out for him since at that moment the bar phone rings and Joe goes to answer it.

“Hello, Joe’s Blues Bar, Joe Dawson speaking,” At the sound of the voice at the end, Joe posture stiffens. “No Mac. I already told you can’t rent Squamish Beach last minute. Yes, I checked with the city council. They said you can’t do it...... Mac! _Mac!_ I’ve got to go. Everything is nuts here. The breakfast rush is crazy today. _Bye._ ” With that he slams the phone into its cradle.

Joe’s doesn’t have a breakfast rush. It doesn’t open until 11 AM.

“What was that about?” Methos asks. If it keeps him away from the earlier conversation, he’s happy to take it. Even if MacLeod is the source of the distraction.

“You know how Richie’s getting married to Angie?” Joe says. “You know you're invited to the engagement party, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, MacLeod’s given up on stopping Amanda’s makeover of his apartment—”

Probably a wise decision. With her your best bets were either to ride the wave or batten down the hatches.

“—and started focusing on Richie instead. Yesterday evening, he called me up to invite me to the engagement party. Apologized that it wasn’t going to be held here then went to ask if I knew who the best French caterers in town were, the number for a good chamber music quartet, and a list of the most reputable Catholic priests in town. And that’s only the first few questions. He went on for another three hours.”

Joe let out a puff of air. “I think I’ve been nominated as wedding planner and this one time I am happy to follow the Watcher rules.” He eyes the phone like it’s a snake before unplugging it. “I really don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

Methos, on the other hand, had been expecting something like this. Joe might have read the Chronicles, but it isn’t the same as living them. “He’s over four hundred, Joe, and he’s never done this before.”

“He was never a father until he got Richie. Seemed pretty calm then.”

He might have seemed calm, but inside? Methos doubts it. To spend your entire life drawing in black and white and have someone hands you a new color. A Mortal might not think anything of it, but Immortal lives settle into patterns. Like a wagon on a well-worn path, it can take tremendous effort to pull oneself onto a new one. The first time you see a wheel, a road, a car. The feeling that the whole world has exploded before your eyes and now you’re living in a new one.

You learn to hide it, even from yourself.

The alternative is to go mad.

“You’re learning to be a father. Do you feel calm?” he points out.

“Okay. Okay, you got me.” Joe bows his head in supplication. “I guess even for an experienced parent it’s pretty terrifying. Wonderful too,” he says and casts his gaze towards the door, out towards where Amy is likely still sitting.

“Yes.” Each and every time. From the first moment you hold their hand in your own to the moment you put them to their final rest. Their bodies flowing out behind you. From you all the way to the horizon. The fear that world really is flat and that one day they’ll fall off the edge, lost to you forever.

Joe studies him then squeezes his shoulder. “Okay,” he says. “I won’t give Mac too much of a hard time. Though he should still back down a bit. The rate he’s going, he’s going to run into Angie’s mother. Angie can be pretty tough when she gets an idea into his head, but her mother? I’ve met the lady. She’s terrifying and I doubt she’s going to be hands-off when it comes to the wedding.” Joe shakes his head. "That’s one duel to the death that I don’t think Mac can win.”

Methos saw a picture of her at the estate, and the image of a stereotypical housewife in her pink cat-embroidered frills standing over MacLeod’s headless body absorbing his Quickening through a spatula flashes through his mind. “It would make a unique ending to his Chronicle.”

Joe chuckles. “Certainly. Hopefully he’ll calm down a bit or Richie’s going to be down a best man.” He raises an eyebrow at Methos. “It’s almost like Duncan’s trying to distract himself.”

* * *

_One day ago_

* * *

Methos is sleeping when the Buzz thrills through his body, rattling his brain. The motel clock’s red display burns ‘02:23’ into his eyes as he retrieves his pistol from the bedside table. His new sword is under the bed and the umbrella next to the door doubles as a dueling cane.

“Hey Methos,” comes Richard’s voice accompanied by a knock. “It’s me.”

Methos grumbles, stalking to door and all but smashing it into the wall as he opens it.

He’s about to tell MacLeod’s Student off when Richard thrusts a pack of beer into his hands.

He raises an eyebrow when he sees the label. “German beer?” A good brand too. As shields go, it is remarkably effective.

Sure, why not?

“I figure I owe you for dumping you on Wednesday and this is one of my favorites. I started drinking the stuff in Europe.” Richard says, slowly stripping off his coat before hanging it by the door. A way to say that he comes in peace. “Since I came back, I can’t stand most of the American stuff anymore.” Then, he adds in the rye tones of many a long-suffering son-in-law, “Angie’s mom thinks the State department should revoke my citizenship because of it.”

As they settle into the stools by the room’s kitchenette, Methos wonders if he Richard has noticed the other little changes that have come over him like how he often uses metric units instead of Imperial or that he has hint of a French accent in his tones. The first signs of a young Immortal shifting from his first life to the next.

“Sorry to freak you out like that,” Richard says nodding at the pistol sitting on the kitchen counter before cracking open a beer for himself and passing another to Methos. “Mac said you hate being woken up. I would have called ahead, but I didn't have your number and Mac didn’t know where you were staying. I’m surprised actually. Figured you’d be staying with him.”

“Well, you found me,” he says. Yes, Richard did find him.

“I figured you’d be in a place like this.”

Methos thinks he knows why too. Motels are a favored location for Immortals without a permanent home. Front and back windows for escaping through and a good view of the parking lot. Given the timing between the Buzz and Richard announcing himself, he had even gone straight to the corner motel room where an Immortal would have the added benefit of a side-window escape. The middle of the city wouldn't be a good location for a duel, but to watch one's prey from a distance? That's another story.

Sometimes it's easy to forget that Richard used to be a Head Hunter.

“You wanted to talk to me,” Methos says, moving the conversation along.

“Yeah, I guess it’s all this wedding stuff. I mean Angie knows what I am, knows how we live and she’s willing to give it a go anyways. And that’s great. It really is, but... it’s been making me really think about what it really means to be Immortal, and so I figured I should track you down.”

And here it comes. First with Joe. Now Richard. The part that Methos hates about being _Methos._ Methos the Ancient who has been everywhere, done everything and seen everything. Methos the Wise who does everything with a purpose and sees a thousand steps ahead. He wants to talk to that person. Not the one in front of him.

“I guess I’m here to clear the air. To say I’m sorry.”

Or maybe not.

“First I got pissed when you killed Kristen and she was nut-job. You probably saved my life and you did save Maria’s. Then, with that guy that I thought was, well, _you_. I got pissed off at you even though _he_ was a lying bastard.”

Personally, Methos had rather liked him. Not only had been entertaining, but a man calling himself Methos and drawing all the attention? A wonderful present. He wishes he had come up with the idea on his own. If it hadn’t been for Richard and thus MacLeod getting drawn into the madness, he would have declared that Christmas had come early.

“I guess I wanted the Great Methos to be larger than life. I wanted him to always to know what to do. I figured if he was like that I could just followed him around and I wouldn’t screw up so much. So when I actually met you and it turns out you’re this annoying English guy—”

“—Welshman,” Methos corrects.

“Yeah right. Like you’ve never been English,” Richard snarks. “Anyways, you turned out to be an annoying 'Welshman' who constantly thumbs his nose at the world. Not exactly what I was hoping for... Then later on, Mac told about the whole Horseman stuff. You did the right thing in the end but the way he described it, before that you spent years with your head up your butt, acting like if you pretended it had never happened, it wouldn’t come back and bite you in the ass.”

Millennia actually. As for the rest. There might be a bit of truth there. Just a smidge. Though he still thinks that staying the Hell away from Kronos was a sensible strategy. If he hadn’t started hanging around MacLeod the (literal) lightning rod for trouble, he figures he would have managed it for at least another century.

“And now this thing with Mac. I see how he looks at Amanda. I saw how he looked at Tessa. When Mac’s in love, subtle he ain’t. I know something is going on there. Besides,” Richard says and casts Methos a sly look, “the way our friends are acting, you’d think you two are the ones getting married.” 

“Quite.” Recently Joe had passed on a message from DeSalvo asking if he had any wallpaper preferences.

“Frankly, I don’t know what happened between you two this last week, but whatever it was, it made me feel better.”

“Oh?” Good to know his near-death experiences and relationship drama benefits someone. If that’s all it took to smooth out problems, daytime talk shows ought to be required watching for Immortals.

Perhaps some of this shows on his face because Richard let the moment and accompanying silence stand. In a mature action that contradicts his apparent age, Richard dutifully removes the now empty cans to the sink, rinses and dries them before depositing them in the recycling. He even removes the remaining beers from the plastic rings, cutting the individual rings open, which, Methos thought, had something to with environmental reasons.

It isn’t until the entire kitchenette look spic and span, that he speaks up again. “You know when Angie suggested we get hitched, I kind of freaked. Worried I’d screw everything up, and then I thought about you, five thousand years and still getting into messes.” He bares his teeth in a sardonic grin. “It was a relief. Instead of waiting until I had everything down perfect. I realized it would never be that way. In the end, she’s willing to give it a shot and I'm willing to give a shot. We might screw up. The universe might screw us. Until then, we’ll enjoy the good times.

“Seem like a good idea to you?” Richard asks. But there’s something missing in the question. The inflection isn’t right. The rhythm and phrasing off.

Before Methos can answer, Richard moves towards the door as if there had been no question to begin with, picking up his coat and slipping it on with motions that hides that there is a two-foot slab of metal in it.

“Enjoy the rest of the beer alright? I don’t know when I’ll be able to get more. The local liquor stores suck and I mooch enough off Joe as it is,” he says. “And about the party tomorrow? Are you coming?”

Richard’s blue eyes watch him steadily. Not weighing or beseeching. Just patiently waiting.

“I’m thinking about it,” Methos answers.

Richard breaks the gaze and scratches the back of his head in a nervous gesture. “Good to know. And that thing with Mac? No pressure one way or other but whatever you decide there, don’t hurt him too bad or I’ll—”

Now this ought to be good. Richard is quite talented with a sword for a young Immortal but—

“—introduce you to Angie’s mom.” Richie shudders. “And believe me when I say Kaitlin is a plenty good threat.”

* * *

_Five days ago_

* * *

The day had started out so very well.

Unlike his previous attempts, Methos finally had successfully disposed of Duncan’s coffee beans. Honestly, for a man who had such good taste in beer, his taste in coffee beans left a lot to be desired. (Such as a cheese grater for one’s tongue.) Once he had dealt with them, he had gone about the business of procuring some that hadn’t marinated in a pig’s bottom.

It had been going well.

Now, pig's bottom coffee sounds delicious.

Methos should have run. Should have let Duncan handle it. Let him deal with his new Immortal enemy, the Kernel or the Corn or whatever he introduced himself as. It had been something with a ‘K’ or a ‘C’. He honestly doesn’t remember, a side effect of the other Immortal nearly caving in his skull.

He shakes himself. _Focus._ He can’t afford to drift. He needs to focus.

The other Immortal has Methos’ broadsword in one hand and his own war hammer in the other, the thick muscles of his arms easily carrying their weight. 

“I think I might spare you,” he says. Through the blood coating one of Methos’ ears and the clear liquid trickling out the other, the other Immortal’s voice comes out soft, gentle. “Bring you to MacLeod. Lay you at his feet. I’ve won. I’m owed a Quickening. A life. It need not be yours.”

Methos tends to think of himself as good at reading people. And this Immortal? Sounds and acts utterly sincere. A true believer. What had happened between him and Duncan? Did Duncan step on his puppy?

He giggles at the notion, the laughter causing him to spit up a gout of blood, spraying the Immortal’s face. One would’ve thought it rain for all that he reacts, his blue eyes, so pale they look white, don’t even flicker.

 _Focus, dammit!_ Weapons. Where are his weapons? The other Immortal still has his sword, its blade digging into Methos' shoulder, just above the clavicle. His guns? In his coat. No help there. It’s lying ripped on the other side of the warehouse. Knives? Two are in the coat. Won’t work. Another in his boot. It’s still there, the hilt of it lightly pressing against his ankle.

Problem. He’s splayed out on his back and the bastard’s watching. He needs a distraction. He needs time.

“You fought honorably. Well. So, I ask you this: you and MacLeod are companions, are you not? Would he surrender himself for you?”

And _dammit_ , Duncan very well might do it. Idiot Scotsman.

“I’m sorry, my friend, but we are running out of time.” The bastard actually sounds apologetic. “I would hear your counsel.”

Methos gives it.

* * *

_Today_

* * *

The party has settled down to a pleasant buzz, one with a little ‘b’. The sort you feel when you wake up with a warm body entangled with your own.

Joe is thrumming a soft jazz melody on his guitar while Amy taps her foot. Richie opens an engagement present from Charlie to reveal a lovingly carved chess set. It’s a gift clearly aimed at the bride-to-be who coos over the detail while Richie gives Charlie a rueful smile as he wraps an arm around Angie.

The restaurant isn’t bad. The food is good, and the restaurant has a balcony that oversees the bay. Still more ostentatious than Richie would have liked but given that Duncan was on the verge of renting an entire mansion for their little party, this is more than a happy medium.

Methos thinks his part of the gathering is finished. He’s flirted outrageously with the bride, told embarrassing stories about the groom, and drunk enough of the bar’s stock that if Duncan has any concerns about not spending enough money on Richie, they’ll be put to rest by the time he sees the bill. So, he moves onto the balcony, breaths the cool night air and waits.

But not for long.

Soon he hears a soft clack of a door opening and Duncan comes to join him. Amanda damn (bless) her is in the door frame behind Duncan and waggles her eyebrows at Methos before rejoining the party and saying something that causes Richie’s ears to go bright red.

“So,” Duncan says, “I gather you and Richie talked yesterday.”

“Yes.”

“Marital concerns?”

“You might say that.”

“Thanks for helping him.”

“Of course,” Methos answers. He’s not prepared to lay all his secrets bare.

“I suppose it’s not surprising that he wanted to talk to you. I don’t have much experience there.”

It’s true. Little Deer, Tessa and the others. Even by Mortal standards, Duncan’s relationships have been wonderful, passionate and dead before their time. As for Amanda, there’s no doubt that she and Duncan deeply love each other.

But Amanda is like the ocean. She may kiss the shore, but she chases the moon.

“Richie’s been the only one acting halfway sane this week,” Duncan says. “Amanda keeps hiring contractors and replacing furniture ‘on my behalf’. Now Charlie has joined in. He’s has a couple of the contractors renovating one of the dojo’s rooms.”

“I told you introducing him to Amanda was a mistake.”

Duncan grins. “You did. Joe, meanwhile, hasn’t been answering his phone. I thought something had had happened to him.”

“He’s had his reasons,” Methos says. “More than one.” Back inside, Amy has found an electric keyboard and has taken to accompanying her father.

“I know and I’m happy for him,” Duncan says. “I guess I’m so used to having to worry about Richie instead of the others, I was so thrown by it all. In the end, I wanted to strangle everyone.” He pauses then adds, “The ones that would get up afterwards at least.”

Methos looks out at the bay. Seacouver is beautiful tonight. The waters are tranquil, reflecting the city in minute detail. Two cities. One within their grasp. The other forever out of it.

Carefully, Methos takes one of Duncan’s hands, draws it up, placing it on his neck, and Duncan gently strokes the white ridge marring it.

“Including me?” Methos asks.

“Methos,” Duncan says, letting out a deep throaty laugh, "always you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah and more. Whatever your beliefs, may the new year bring you joy.


End file.
